


Reckoning

by miraworos



Series: A More Perfect World [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: All is revealed, Angry Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Not Innocent (Good Omens), Aziraphale is probably going to smite one (1) demon, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley is an idiot but his heart is in the right place, Crowley is panicking, Crowley's actions come back to haunt him, M/M, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Temporary Amnesia, The Night At Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), The ficus is panicking, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22469569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos/pseuds/miraworos
Summary: It's present day now, and Aziraphale is in Crowley's flat...with all of Crowley's souvenirs. What could go wrong?~~~~~“Angel, I can explain.”“This statue…”“I promise there’s a perfectly sound—”“Seems so familiar…like a transparency laid over a picture. Only the longer I stare at it, the more the transparency becomes the picture, and the picture fades away.”“Shit. This is not how I—”“Crowley, what aren’t you telling me?”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: A More Perfect World [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596484
Comments: 26
Kudos: 300
Collections: Top Aziraphale Recs





	Reckoning

**Author's Note:**

> Infinite thanks go to my betas [Z A Dusk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakeandmoon/works) and [November Snowflake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/novembersnow/pseuds/November%20Snowflake/works)! This finale was particularly challenging for me to wrangle, and I couldn't have done it without them!!! Thank you, you beautiful story mavens. *kisses*

_2019 - Mayfair_

That was that then. Armageddon sorted. Well, sort of. There was the whole bit about faces that Crowley couldn’t parse. But not a bad outcome overall, given the epic cock-ups that had taken place.

Yet, despite the coming retaliation from Heaven and Hell, Crowley was more concerned about what would happen now that Aziraphale had finally—fucking finally—decided to choose him over Heaven. No more falsified reports. No more _my side wouldn’t like that_. No more Arrangement.

But if there was no more Arrangement, then what was there? A parting of ways? Friendship? His heart would whisper another possibility, but he couldn’t let himself indulge it, so he ignored it instead.

He ignored it the entire bus ride back to Mayfair. He ignored it more pointedly as he led Aziraphale to the flat and let the angel loose to roam. He especially ignored it when he headed for the kitchen to get them drinks. Because even if it were a possibility, they still weren’t fully safe from Heaven and Hell. And even if they were, Crowley had spent so long trying to prevent it that he may very well have prevented it permanently.

The thing was, Aziraphale still thought of them as only friends—best friends, maybe, but not more. He had no memory of their trysts. Crowley had seen to that. He’d even erased incriminating parts of relevant events leading up to them, and guilt gnawed at his gut with some regularity over it. 

It had been the right decision. He was confident of that, despite everything. If Aziraphale had let slip so much as a hint of what had happened between them, he could have been hurt or cast out. Or, worse—Crowley swallowed hard—he might have Fallen. Crowley would risk a lot. But he wouldn’t risk that. Ever.

“Angel, do you want the Glendfiddich or the Chateau Lafite?”

Not hearing an immediate response, he opted for both, pulling a corkscrew from a nearby drawer that he rarely used, and opening the bottle without a miracle. Aziraphale wanted them to be cautious. Crowley almost laughed out loud at the thought—if only Aziraphale had extended some of that same caution to his libido.

Crowley paused in the act of pouring a glass of bordeaux, remembering the sherry served at the gentleman’s club. Just the smell of it brought him back to that night in all its salvation and agony. Then his mind sailed immediately to the Bentley, fifty years later, where he _truly_ fell in love. He had thought himself already there, but, apparently, the depths of his love for the angel were fathomless.

It should have ended after that second stolen memory, but in truth, it hadn’t. After the assignation in the Bentley, Crowley had assumed that the long separations were the reason for the strength of Aziraphale’s ardor. So Crowley had taken to popping by the bookshop daily, or at least every other day. He’d applauded himself on his cleverness in figuring out how to diffuse Aziraphale’s advances.

It took less than a month for the angel to disabuse him of that notion. He’d cornered Crowley in the stacks in the middle of the damned day when Crowley had brought him a sandwich from a nearby deli that the angel had taken a shine to. It was a sandwich! How was Crowley to know that something as innocuous as a turkey on rye would set the angel off? But it had. And three hours of incredible sex later, Crowley had miracled himself back to his flat and erased Aziraphale’s memory once again.

After that, Crowley took far more care to meet Aziraphale at the park or a restaurant or some other public place to keep a respectable distance between them. He passed it off as fear that their head offices would discover their friendship were he to come by the bookshop too often, and Aziraphale seemed to accept this explanation without suspicion. Crowley had even figured out enough of Aziraphale’s tells that he could scamper out of their evening nightcaps before Aziraphale’s thoughts—or his own, for that matter—took too decidedly a lascivious turn.

These tactics seemed to suffice, at least for a while. Crowley had managed to avoid any sexual encounters with the angel, which was both fortunate and tragic, for a substantial amount of time. He’d considered the problem sorted and had relegated it to the back of his mind, for the most part, when they were working or scheming or whatever you wanted to call it. Late at night, when Crowley was alone in his flat, was an entirely different story. But overall, his strategy had proven successful, and he would wait to bring back the angel’s memories, realigning their relationship, when he’d figured out a way to get Heaven and Hell off their backs for good.

But then, ten years after the sandwich affair, they’d gone together to the Covent Garden Orchestra’s production of _Orfeo ed Euridice_. Crowley had excused himself to use the loo (not that he needed to, really—he was just bored of the ridiculous singing and wanted an excuse to stretch his legs). Aziraphale had followed not five minutes later, and, well, needless to say, they’d missed the entirety of act three.

Crowley had taken that memory, also. It was nearly automatic at that point. And though he knew that continuing to steal the angel’s memories was unsustainable, that it was a violation of trust, and that he’d suffer the consequences eventually, he also knew that were he to fail to wile his way out of the situation, then he would not refuse Aziraphale. Firstly, because he couldn’t. He literally could not do it. He had tried. He had tried in the gentlemen's club. He’d tried in the Bentley. But he wanted Aziraphale too much to lie convincingly that he didn’t. 

And secondly, at the end of the day, Aziraphale had already suffered far too much rejection from those arseholes in Heaven, from the people who were supposed to love him, for Crowley to add his own rejection, even a false one, to the pile. Just considering doing so had made Crowley physically ill. He’d drunk himself into a two-day stupor, trying to work up the nerve to reject Aziraphale, until he finally gave it up for impossible. It was shitty situation, but it was what it was.

So Crowley did what he could, short of abandoning the angel entirely, and had some marginal amount of success in his efforts at avoidance. But he had some severe misses as well over the years. There was the Hiroko sushi restaurant opening. The Bentley, take two. The bakery they’d broken into at three in the morning to satisfy a certain angel’s selective sweet tooth. They’d even had sex in the bathroom of a coffee shop round the corner from the head office lobby. And after every tryst, Crowley had kissed his angel and wiped his memory, both fervently hoping and _not_ hoping that it was the last.

All told, they’d consummated their feelings more than a dozen times between the Blitz and Armageddon. For Aziraphale, each time was the first. And for Crowley, each time was a failure to protect Aziraphale—a failure he couldn’t entirely bring himself to regret.

Speaking of, Crowley would have to be a moron to think that tonight wouldn’t lead to another such encounter. A set up like this? It would be irresistible to Aziraphale, if history had taught Crowley anything. And honestly, the demon would be lying if he said that thought didn’t excite him. His entire body throbbed with heat at the mere possibility. 

Which then led to the sobering thought: maybe it was time to admit everything to Aziraphale after all, Heaven and Hell be damned. He couldn’t keep the truth from Aziraphale forever, and he didn’t want to. But Aziraphale would no doubt react badly, and they still had Agnes’s prophecy to muddle through before they were truly free from their head offices. 

In other words, not today. But soon. And what should he say to prepare the angel when he did? What _could_ he say to make it possible for Aziraphale to forgive him?

Come to think of it, the flat had gone rather quiet.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley said, looking up from the wine he’d just poured.

He picked up the glasses and headed out of the kitchen towards the main living area, which really only housed his overly opulent desk and chair. Perhaps he should miracle up a couch or something.

“Angel?”

When no answer was forthcoming, he set the wine on his desk and started for the solarium, where his plants were already trembling. The thought occurred to him then that he rarely left the door to the solarium open, because if the denizens of Hell came calling, the last thing he wanted them to see was artefacts he’d kept from his adventures with Aziraphale. Then the follow-up thought struck him of who else said artefacts should probably be kept hidden from.

_Oh, fuck_.

Crowley careened through the panel door and fell into a ficus as he overcorrected for the turn and lost his balance. He pushed himself back to standing, leaves falling like rain around him as the ficus panicked. He swore and swiveled to see Aziraphale standing transfixed by a too-familiar statue. 

“Angel, I can explain.”

“This statue…”

“I promise there’s a perfectly sound—”

“Seems so familiar…like a transparency laid over a picture. Only the longer I stare at it, the more the transparency becomes the picture, and the picture fades away.”

“Shit. This is not how I—”

“And this feather…” Aziraphale held up the white, downy plume that had been resting on the statue’s pedestal. “This is my feather. Where did you get this?”

“I...” Crowley could feel his face growing hot. “I… You… Y-you left it. In the Bentley.”

“The Bentley.”

Crowley found it increasingly difficult to breath as Aziraphale continued to stare at him.

“Crowley, what aren’t you telling me?"

“W-we… I-I-I…”

“We had sex,” Aziraphale said. “In the gentlemen's club.” He turned pale but for two bright pink spots coloring his cheekbones. “In _1887_. Crowley! What did you _do?_ ”

Aziraphale started toward him, anger evident in every movement, every line of his corporation, and especially in the holy lightning flashing in his eyes.

Crowley retreated, backing through the panel door, retracing his steps nearly to the kitchen where he finally bumped up against the outside edge of the island.

“Anthony J. Crowley, I demand an answer.”

Trembling, Crowley drew himself up. He wasn’t afraid of what Aziraphale would do to him. He was afraid of losing him altogether, but that wasn’t his choice to make. Not after all the choices he’d already taken from the angel. He’d wanted to give those choices back, but now it was too late. Aziraphale had learned the truth on his own, and Crowley’s good intentions were reduced to so much broken pavement on the road to Hell.

“I took them,” he said, thickly. 

“What?”

“I took your memories. To protect you.”

“You took my memories of that night to _protect me?_ ”

Crowley was tempted to let him assume it was just the once, but no. Aziraphale deserved to know the truth. The whole truth.

“Not just that night.”

“Not _what?_ ”

“Not just that night. There were others.”

Aziraphale gaped at him, aghast. “How many times, Crowley?”

“Six—”

“ _Six_ times?”

“—teen.”

Aziraphale gasped audibly. “ _Sixteen times?_ ”

Crowley breathed deeply through his nose, his trembling easing now that the truth was out.

The angel’s halo burst through its metaphysical bonds, leaping onto this plane of reality in a blinding flash that burned brighter with every second.

“Angel! Please, let me explain.”

As Crowley spoke, Aziraphale pressed his hands together like he was trying to contain an immeasurable force. When his light reached some sort of tipping point, the angel reached past Crowley and slapped his hand on the kitchen island’s counter. 

With a great shaking and a loud crash, the island collapsed into rubble.

Crowley leapt away from it with a yelp. “Did you just smite my kitchen?”

The light bled away back to where it had come from, leaving Aziraphale shuddering and spent.

“Better the kitchen than you,” he said wearily. “Though at least you’d have deserved it.”

Crowley took a step toward the angel.

“Don’t,” Aziraphale said sharply. “How could you betray my trust like that? I would never have done so to you. I’d have _trusted_ you.”

“Yeah, like you trusted me with the location of the antichrist.” Crowley shook his head, realizing by Aziraphale’s thunderous expression that he was just making it worse. “Listen, it wasn’t a matter of trust, okay? It was a matter of stakes. The punishment was too great to risk either of us giving it away.”

“Bollocks,” Aziraphale snarled at him, his hands curling into fists.

“What did you say?” Crowley said, a small, hysterical part of him wanting desperately to laugh at the angel’s choice of epithets.

“They’d have punished us for breathing the wrong way, Crowley. The Arrangement alone would have ended us, had they discovered it before becoming distracted by Armageddon. What was an affair on top of that? They would have what—killed us more?”

“They’d have found us out sooner, was my point,” Crowley said, though now that he spoke the words out loud, he realized how stupid they sounded. “Angel, I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

“Oh, I am not even _close_ to the you-begging-for-forgiveness portion of this conversation, you complete bastard, so don’t even—”

“You could have Fallen, Angel. They would have cast you out forever.”

“And you would no longer want me if I were a demon, is that it?”

“ _What?_ ”

“Or would it have interfered too much with your lone-wolf aesthetic? To not be the only demon on _our side?_ ”

“You don’t know what you’re saying. You would never survive becoming a demon!”

Aziraphale flinched, then looked at Crowley reproachfully, as if he’d mortally wounded him. Crowley replayed the comment in his head and realized, belatedly, what it had probably sounded like.

“That’s not what I meant, Aziraphale. I’m not saying you aren’t strong enough to endure it. I mean that you wouldn’t be _you_ anymore. You’d be hurt and jaded and corrupted and miserable.”

“You mean, like I am right now?” the angel whispered, water gathering at his lashes.

“Aziraphale…”

The angel raised his hand, preparing to snap, and Crowley caught on a split-second too late.

“Angel, no! It’s too much all at—”

Heedless, the angel snapped, and then instantly fell to his knees, head in his hands.

“—once,” Crowley finished, sinking to the floor as well and drawing close to Aziraphale, reaching out but not touching. “Are you—” he croaked.

“I can’t— I can’t— They’re all jumbled. I can’t—”

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand, drawing it to his cheek. He lent the angel his own star map of memories, his constellation, so that Aziraphale could more accurately chart events, slotting them into their proper sequence.

The angel shook, tears streaming down his face, and Crowley gathered him close as he sorted through it all.

“This doesn’t mean I’m not still _furious_ with you,” Aziraphale hissed through clenched teeth, his hand still pressed against Crowley’s cheek.

“I know. And I’m sorry. If it helps, I intended to give it all back one day. When I knew it was safe.”

“You had no right to take it in the first place.”

“I know.”

“…But it helps,” the angel allowed, grudgingly.

Crowley, being Crowley, couldn’t resist making light of a difficult situation at the worst imaginable moment.

“It’s all your fault, you know.”

“Oh, really?” Aziraphale arched an annoyed eyebrow. “How is that, pray tell?”

“If you’d been able to keep your hands off me, I wouldn’t have had to resort to anything so drastic.”

“Oh, really. As I remember it, you didn’t exactly object.”

“Well, at least I never initiated,” Crowley teased, but then he sobered. "I was too afraid of what might happen. You were braver than me.”

The angel sighed heavily, wiping his eyes. “I don’t think bravery had much to do with it, if I’m being honest.”

“Well—if we’re being _honest_ —you’re right in that I didn’t put up much of a fight. And I probably put up less of one over the years.”

“I suppose it is rather remarkable that no matter how many times you took my memory, we still ended up in the same position. I guess you could say it was in—”

“If you say _ineffable_ , so help me…”

“I was going to say _inevitable_. I think it best we leave the Almighty out of this, don’t you agree?”

“I won’t tell Her if you don’t.”

Aziraphale’s lips twitched in a semblance of a smile, as if he couldn’t help himself. But he immediately quashed it and narrowed his eyes. “I am still _livid_ with you. Words cannot begin to describe it.”

“I understand. And...I have a suggestion.”

Aziraphale waited for him to continue, a question in his eyes.

“If words cannot describe it…” Crowley was about to regret this, he felt sure. “Maybe actions might?”

The angel’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You’re really suggesting we…? After you…?” he spluttered. “How do I know you won’t just steal my memory again?”

Crowley turned his head, kissing the hand he was still holding to his face. “I have no incentive to steal your memories now. And every incentive for you to keep them.”

Aziraphale huffed, exasperated, but the expression in his eyes said he was considering it.

“I wouldn’t be gentle,” he admitted. “I’m still overwrought about all of this.”

“I’m okay with you being a bit rough with me. I know you’d never hurt me. You’d stop if I said stop.”

Aziraphale withdrew his hand from Crowley’s and stood up.

“I should leave. I should go away and consider whether trust between us is even salvageable. I should make you prove to me that you can be trusted again.”

Crowley stood up as well, feeling a million years old.

“You should,” he agreed, doing his best to meet his angel’s implacable gaze.

There was a long moment where neither breathed, neither moved, and neither looked away.

Then somehow, without Crowley even realizing it was happening, Aziraphale slammed him against the nearest wall and attacked his mouth with a kiss so ruthless that it melted all of Crowley’s bones into liquid fire. Aziraphale’s grip on his shoulders shifted to the front of Crowley’s waistcoat and shirt. With a rip, buttons flying everywhere, the angel divested him of both articles of clothing in a single stroke.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley gasped. “I love you.”

The angel answered by sucking a painful bruise into Crowley’s neck. 

“I want this,” Crowley murmured. “I want us.”

Aziraphale growled, snapping them into Crowley’s bedroom, backing Crowley into the side of the bed and then down without breaking his hold.

“I don’t want you to think I—” Crowley paused to kick off his boots. “To think I took them because I didn’t want you to know, that I didn’t want it to happen again. I did. I _do_.”

“Crowley, shut up,” Aziraphale said into the skin over his sternum. “I know why you did it.” He snapped again, banishing the rest of their clothes. Then he climbed on top of Crowley, pressing him into the mattress. “Right now, I want to sink my teeth into you, and it’s difficult to concentrate when you keep rehashing sore points.”

Crowley groaned, arching up into Aziraphale’s body, his skin radiating the heat he’d been storing from all those late nights thinking of Aziraphale, unable to touch him and so touching himself instead. He was a hydrogen bomb about to detonate and lay waste to everything in his blast radius, and Aziraphale’s mouth was the trigger.

“Don’t,” Aziraphale said harshly, breaking away from his path of destruction down Crowley’s midsection to wrestle Crowley’s wrists to the mattress. “Don’t touch me. I touch you.”

“Yes, angel,” Crowley whispered raggedly.

“I don’t even know what to do with you,” Aziraphale continued, muttering to himself more than Crowley as he thrust his hips against Crowley’s erection. “I have all these memories, all the things we’ve done, but I feel like I haven’t done any of them.” He thrust again, biting at the meat of Crowley’s shoulder, then soothing it with his hot tongue and cool breath.

Crowley, wisely, kept his mouth shut and his hands to himself, as commanded, though it took every ounce of will to do so. He rocked up into Aziraphale’s thrusts. At least that was not yet forbidden.

“ _Mine_ ,” Aziraphale breathed as he clenched Crowley’s hip in a grip so tight it would almost certainly leave bruises. But it wasn’t until Aziraphale slid lower, licking a scorching path along the inside of Crowley’s thigh toward his cock that Crowley finally noticed the angel’s tears.

“Angel, stop. Stop.”

As Crowley had predicted, Aziraphale immediately stopped, turning his tear-brightened eyes to Crowley’s in question.

Crowley reached down and seized Aziraphale’s forearms, pulling the angel up to lay next to him on the bed. Then, turning to face him, Crowley said, “Talk to me.”

Aziraphale dropped his gaze and swallowed a few times before speaking.

“You love me,” he whispered finally. “You said it every time.”

“That’s because I do love you, obviously.”

“I was…overwhelmed by it. Every time. Every time you said it was the first time for me, and it’s…it’s a lot to take in. All of this… It’s a lot.”

“Take a breath for me, angel. Just a breath.”

Aziraphale inhaled and let out a shaky breath. And then another. “I’m not certain five thousand breaths will be enough.”

Crowley lifted his hand to touch the angel’s face but paused halfway there. 

“Is it alright if I touch you?”

Aziraphale didn’t answer immediately, but eventually he nodded.

Crowley gently caressed Aziraphale’s cheek, a mirror to when he’d held Aziraphale’s hand to his own face.

“Let me see your wings,” Crowley said after a moment of quiet.

“Why?”

“Just…” Crowley had been about to say _trust me_ , but in light of everything, perhaps that wouldn’t be the best idea. “Please?” he said instead.

Aziraphale closed his eyes for a moment and then popped his wings onto the physical plane, brushing the one he wasn’t lying on over Crowley’s side.

Crowley reached up and gently combed his long fingers through the various layers, starting with the coverts and working his way out to the tertiaries and the few secondaries he could comfortably reach. He’d have to sit up to get to the rest, and he wasn’t quite ready to do that yet. But the combing was already achieving the desired effect, as Aziraphale’s eyelids drooped lower, his shoulders relaxed, and his breath deepened.

“Better?” Crowley asked.

“Better,” Aziraphale confirmed. Then he folded his wing along his side and pulled Crowley closer, tucking his head under Crowley’s chin. Crowley wrapped his arm around the angel, rubbing the muscles where wing met shoulder.

It was chilly in Crowley’s flat, so he brought out his own wings, and folded one over them both to keep their body heat in as he held the angel close. For an hour or so, they lay there in silence, Crowley occasionally kissing the top of his curly head. Then with a sigh, Aziraphale shifted so that he could look Crowley in the face.

“We must talk about the prophecy,” Aziraphale said, sounding regretful.

Crowley idly stroked the angel’s flank with his primaries. “Must we?”

“Darling, you know they’ll be coming for us. Might be on their way already.”

“They’ll have preparations to make. Won’t be till tomorrow afternoon at the earliest,” he said.

“Even if you’re right, we need a plan. Agnes said—”

“I know what Agnes said. I’d just rather be talking about something else right now. Or better yet, not talking at all.”

“There will be time for that.”

“Later tonight?”

Aziraphale smirked, pinching his thigh. “If you’re good, and you help me solve this riddle, then yes.”

And with that little carrot for motivation, Crowley lifted himself onto his elbow and miracled the wine glasses from the other room into his hand.

“Brainstorming juice,” he said, indicating that the angel should take one of the glasses. 

It turned out that problem-solving naked was highly productive. Crowley wasn’t sure whether Aziraphale would have come up with the idea to switch corporations if they had not been so hyper aware of their bodies in the moment. But once the idea was out there, it seemed the wisest course of action, given the likelihood that their deplorably unimaginative bosses would use traditional methods of punishment for their respective species.

Having thus decided, Aziraphale set aside their empty wine glasses and pushed Crowley onto his back. 

“I think we should make the most of the time we have left. Just in case they…well.” The angel bit his lip and changed tack. “There are still a few hours before sunrise.”

His mouth was halfway to Crowley’s chest before Crowley stopped him with an outstretched hand.

“You don’t think we should?” Aziraphale asked, puzzled.

“It’s not that, it’s…” Crowley trailed off, hesitant.

“Yes, love?” Aziraphale prompted when Crowley didn’t finish the thought.

Crowley closed his eyes, suffused with tingles at hearing his angel call him _love_ again. It had been far too long having only the memory of it to hold. When he opened his eyes again, Aziraphale was looking at him with concern, still waiting.

“Do you forgive me?” Crowley asked finally, his voice hoarse with hope.

Aziraphale let out a shuddering breath. “I forgive you,” he said finally. “But that doesn’t mean you won’t be spending _decades_ making it up to me. _Decades_.”

“Decades, got it,” Crowley said, smiling with his whole face.

“Centuries, maybe,” Aziraphale said, the start of his usual smile tugging at his lips.

“Whatever you want, angel,” Crowley said and meant it.

“Hm, well, I’ll keep that in mind.” Then Aziraphale leaned down and captured his mouth in a sumptuous kiss before breaking away again to say, “Right now, I want to make love to you. And then _remember it_ afterward.”

Crowley winced. “Yes, angel. I think I can manage that.”

“Good.”

Aziraphale claimed Crowley’s mouth once again, slotting his thigh between both of Crowley’s. 

The demon shifted to accommodate him, thrusting his hips up to encourage his lover’s interest. _His lover_. His cock hardened further just thinking it, his heart beat even faster. And there was no sorrow tied to it now. He’d never have to lose Aziraphale again, never have to let him go. Not as long as Aziraphale wanted to stay. And Crowley would make damn sure his angel wanted to stay.

Now that he was allowed to touch, he did so with every available limb—arm, leg, and wing. He laid kisses wherever he could reach, whenever he wasn’t being plastered to the bed.

“Good Lord, how I want you, you sly devil,”Aziraphale breathed into his neck. “It could mean the death of me, and I would still want you. I need you. I need you to—” Crowley wrapped his hand around Aziraphale’s shaft. “Oh, _God_ , yes—”

The angel’s words cut off into inarticulate whimpers as Crowley flipped them over and began his own offensive on Aziraphale’s stomach, his hips, his thighs, and finally, his cock. He didn’t belabor it, though, as this was just the first course, and they had many more to fit in before night’s end. He wrapped his lips around Aziraphale and sucked and licked and swirled his tongue with relish around the head, no teasing or hesitating, just hard and fast and demanding as Hell.

Aziraphale pushed him off with a pop only a few minutes in, much to Crowley’s consternation. But then the angel rolled them over again and began his own ministrations to Crowley’s entrance.

“Oh, S-s-s— Fuck, angel. _Fuck_ , that feelsss…”

But Aziraphale’s tongue was too busy entering Crowley, laving him, stretching him open to allow the angel to respond.

Crowley managed to keep his hips still, but only by clenching the duvet, ripping it, he was fairly sure, and swearing up a storm.

Finally, Aziraphale released him and pushed himself up to a better position from which to drive his cock into Crowley’s now thoroughly slick and stretched entrance. Crowley shakily shoved a pillow under his lower back and hooked his legs around Aziraphale’s waist. Then he braced himself against the bed as he felt the tip of Aziraphale’s cock press against his opening.

“Ready, my love?” Aziraphale asked, his voice breathy and strained.

“Yes, yes! _Do_ it, already.” 

He’d have said more, begged more, anything to feel his angel’s cock inside him _right bloody now_ , but instead he trailed off into inarticulate spluttering and swearing as Aziraphale accommodated him, pushing in with barely constrained power while the demon stretched further, adapting to the invasion.

Finally, Crowley couldn’t take the stillness any longer. He pressed himself down on Aziraphale’s cock, and then up again, signaling to the angel to _pound into him_ , for the love of everything. He _needed_ it. He needed to be utterly possessed, to be filled completely by the angel.

Aziraphale took the note and matched the rhythm Crowley had started. Thrusting in and pulling out just enough to drive Crowley mad.

“Fuck, angel, don’t stop. Don’t stop…”

And for his part, Aziraphale didn’t stop. He devoured Crowley like the demon was a meal at the Ritz, heavy and wet and satisfyingly _long_. He savored Crowley for hours, pumping into him, coming again and again. Never needing to stop, thanks to superior biology. 

And Crowley came as well. Over and over. With the angel’s caress sometimes, with his own others, and sometimes without any intervention at all. They occasionally changed positions to give Crowley’s wings a break from grinding against the mattress. But the instant he’d roll over onto his elbows and knees, Aziraphale would thrust back into him, barely stopping long enough to catch his breath. 

“I love you, I love you so much,” Crowley said, as Aziraphale’s arm circled his ribcage, his mouth sucking the point of Crowley’s shoulder, as he thrust into him, pulled out, and thrust in again. “I-if this is the last time, I want you to—”

“This is _not_ the last time,” Aziraphale insisted between thrusts. “I will never let them have you. I will never let you go again.”

“Aziraphale…” Crowley cried out, coming instantly at the angel’s insistence, spilling white all over his black silk duvet.

“My darling, my love,” Aziraphale murmured, nipping Crowley’s back, grasping his feathers. Then he came himself, filling Crowley once again with his divine essence, which Crowley could feel suffusing his every molecule. 

Then, reluctantly it seemed, Aziraphale finally pulled his cock out of Crowley and drew Crowley into his arms instead. They collapsed to the sodden bedspread, heedless of the mess. Eventually, Crowley snapped it away, but he was almost regretful to banish the evidence of their night together, of this perfect fusion of infernal and divine.

“I want you again already,” the angel grumbled into the side of Crowley’s neck. “Is that strange?”

“Not at all,” Crowley said. “Or, if it is, then I’m just as strange as you are.”

“We are a match, aren’t we?” Aziraphale said. “A match made in—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

Aziraphale chuckled and pulled Crowley in tighter. 

“You know, if there’s a silver lining to all of this memory-stealing nonsense,” Aziraphale said, pausing his thought to nibble on Crowley’s ear. “It’s that I have not just one first, magical, perfect time with you, but _seventeen_. It’s kind of miraculous, if you think about it like that.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Tell that to my kitchen.”

“Well, I’m not saying I wasn’t right to be angry. But...”

“But what?”

“But—after all this body swapping, fooling head office and whatnot—it might be entertaining to…you know…do it on purpose sometime. For fun.”

“What?”

“Do it on purpose. Only this time, I’ll take your memory—temporarily, of course—and give _you_ a new first time. Recreate a scene from the past and…relive it as we perhaps should have initially. Like, perhaps, at La Droguerie du Marais? After you rescued me from the Bastille?”

Crowley laughed. “So _that_ was what all that popping across the Channel was about? You _wanted_ to get caught, so I’d come rescue you?”

“Well, maybe a little. I wasn’t lying about the crepes. They just weren’t perhaps my—” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “—primary motivation.”

Crowley pressed a reverent kiss into the crown of his angel’s head, overwhelmed by the magnitude of his love for such a silly creature. Such a silly, terrifying, tender, petulant, _irresistible_ creature. A creature that, no matter how many miracles or plagues or ends-of-the-world were thrown at them, he would never in a million years forget.

“Anything you want, angel. Anything you want.”

**Author's Note:**

> And this concludes my first ever cannonball straight into the deep-end of explicit fic. Will I do it again? Probably. Will I revisit this series again? Very possibly! I had a great time writing it, and an even greater time reading all of your loving, supportive, emoji-filled comments. Honestly, I would absolutely have stopped after Souvenir if you all hadn't requested a bit more. You inspired me to carry it through to the (mostly) end, and I really, really appreciate that. Thank you all so much for the love and support. I <3 you ALL. 
> 
> I have several other [GO fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos/works), if you'd like more to read, including a [post-canon sequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20969585/chapters/49860608), if that's your thing. ;-)
> 
> Otherwise, please come find me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/miraworos). I pretty much just use it as a dedicated Good Omens app, lol.
> 
> Oh, and if any of you wants to make art or podfic or remixes or anything off this series, have at it! Just link it to me in the comments so I can squee over it!! <3


End file.
